Wrestlemom Ch 03

Copyright © 2011, Surt, ALL Rights Reserved.

There is no need to read 'WrestleMom Ch.01 & Ch.02' as everything relevant to this story is explained at the start, though it is recommended as you will have a better understanding of what's going on. Feedback is always appreciated and replied to. Everyone in this story is at least eighteen-years-old. Thanks for reading and enjoy. The Celebrity Templates are:

Leah Remini as Tina Torrile. (Though it should be noted that all the wrestling personalities mentioned are actual real life people.)

***

"Hello? Vince: I want in."

"Huh? What? Who is this?

"Lou!"

"Huh? You? Whada ya want? Huh? Whada ya mean 'you want in'!? Huh!? Whatda ya mean you want in!?"

I was surprised at his reaction, very surprised. The last time I saw him he looked like the damn-near happiest man on Earth. It was as if someone had hit a switch and completely changed his mood. Regardless, I carried on.

"You know...My mom...that stuff. I want to take it further."

"What the FUCK are you trying to say!?" he snarled down the phone.

So intimidated was I that the next words out of my mouth made absolutely no sense: "Ahhh, sex me Mom --"

"Shadup! Who do you think you are? Huh? Asking me for that!? No! NO! You sick, filthy little...argh! I don't need this crap! Just fuck off, fuck off!" he smashed the phone against his desk to let me know he was done talking. I kept hold of the phone, hoping that the dull ringing tone would help me understand what had happened, all the while staring at the TV, watching my mom have full-on mother-son roleplay sex with the guy that was playing her son (me) on television. Well, for first timers, I got lots of explaining to do, so let me try to do it as quick as I can. Here we go!

***

I'm Louis Torrile, otherwise known as Lou. Just an average 18-year-old Italian-American from New York, nothing special. My mom on the other hand, she is: she is a pro-wrestler.

My mom is Tina Torrile; she's 5'3, a toned 125 lbs, has tight buns, peachy boobs, golden brown hair and a warm, motherly demeanour. My 34-year-old mom is a hottie, no doubt, which I have no problem admitting. I like to see her get down and dirty, I take pleasure in seeing her in states of undress, which is okay as she never really raised me, she spent most of her time touring the world as a professional wrestler. Well, that's my justification for some pretty bad stuff I've done to her.

Deep breath now: recent happenings include me being hired as a ring-crew guy for the WWE (the company she works for); being tricked into seeing my mom in the shower by mid-south wrestling legend (and world-class asshole) Michael P.S Hayes; meeting Vince McMahon and have him take an interest in me and my mom's relationship; watching my mom do a sexy photoshoot in Spain; meeting a British massage therapist who talked me into "massaging" my mom; giving my mom the rubdown and finger-banging of her life!; getting shouted at by Vince for touching up my mom; becoming friendly with Vince after I told him sexy ideas for my mom; secretly supplied Vince with ideas and storylines for my mom; watched my mom's debut match as "The Sexy Mom" character I made for her; caused a huge rift between us when she caught me checking her out; watched on as a character called Lloyd Torrile got introduced as her T.V son; got super pissed off seeing the fake T.V me get rubbed by Layla El!; saw fake me turn heel (bad guy) on my mom and side with the badies and, finally; was given a DVD by Vince McMahon himself which contained my mom and the actor playing me having full-on mother-son roleplay sex! Now that you're up to speed, let's go back to the action.

***

2.7. That was the rating the previous Monday's Raw had gotten. A quite low rating, markedly lower than the previous week. That's what got Vince off his rocker. I found out about the rating when I came to the building. Everyone from staffers, talent, to crew was whispering about it. What set off this wave of panic was that the ratings number boarded a range WWE had not approached in many, many years: the mid-two range. Alarmists in the organisation were blowing it up like it was a huge deal, though the overall opinion shared by many, including me, took it as a one-off. Ratings had been steadily slipping for a while; this was no real indication of a huge negative turnaround in business.

After the show was done, I saw Vince walking back to his office. I was standing a safe distance away from him, peeking behind a crate. He had his jacket in his hand, wearing a sweat-stained loose blue shirt, doing his famous power-walk. He looked beaten, tired, all the pressure of the company brought down onto his broad shoulders. A staffer approached him, holding a clipboard.

"Vince? Could you look at this?"

Vince shoved him hard with his free hand, tossing the staffer to the floor. The hall gasped, Vince trudged on, not taking a second glance.

I was there during this whole troubled time, seeing and hearing everything happen, more so in the middle of it as the show I was on taped on Tuesdays, meaning we'd be the ones to see (and feel) the owner's wrath. Major changes were needed, as it was not just the Raw show that was underperforming: The SmackDown show was falling deeper and deeper into irrelevancy, the NXT show failed, demoted to the internet, and the WWE's 4th show, SuperStars, was watched by 12 people at most. Worldwide interest in the WWE had also gone down: live event attendance was down globally, DVD sales were down, pay-per-view buyrates were way, way down, basically the entire core business was sliding downward. (I swear this gets pornographic eventually!)

The next week the show drew a 2.9. Collective sighs of relief. That didn't last. The show the week after drew another 2.7. The company was in code red, talks of cuts, changes and reshufflings spread like wildfire. The WWE then went into full-on blood red panic mode when the following week's rating confirmed they had a serious problem: 2.5.

After the news of the 2.5, a major meeting was held after the SmackDown taping. I, with a couple of the other crew guys, stood by the door to hear the going's on.

"We need a turnaround!" shouted Vince. "We need to shake things up! Now! Now! I want ideas; I want them now, gawd dammit! None of you leave this room without giving me one idea that will turnaround business!"

Us crew guys were shooed away quite quickly by the security guys. We then went back to our jobs.

Two days later the culprit of the business downturn had been named: The P.G product. The P.G direction limited what WWE could do in terms of pushing the envelope, but was considered necessary to keep important sponsors appeased. The solution? Make one show P.G and the other TV14. Raw was to be the TV14 show, SmackDown the P.G show. Raw would go back to pushing the envelope, SmackDown would keep the statuesque. Massive changes were made right away, the biggest of which was most of the writing crew being fired, and yes that included Michael Hayes (yay!). A draft which would shake-up the rosters was also announced.

How I figured into all this? I'll explain. I was at the SmackDown taping, doing my usual duties. While sitting around, watching the show, a stagehand approached me.

"Louis, Mr. McMahon wants to see you."

Gulp. "Me?" I was nervous as heck for many reasons. One, it had been over a month since Vince slipped me a DVD of my mom having sex with 22-year-old Troy, the actor who played her son on television and, secondly, the last time me and Vince spoke it ended with a telephone being battered over a table. I thought for sure this was the end for me.

"Yes, you better go right away, he's waiting."

I got my legs to stop shaking, wandered around the arena, found his office and entered inside. He was sitting behind a catering table, glasses on, wearing a clean blue shirt.

"Ah! Lou my boy! How ya doing!"

"F-fine, Sir."

"Oh no 'Sir' with me! It's just Vince."

"Yes, Vince."

"Come, come," he waved me over.

I was quite jittery, praying this nice-guy Vince was not about to hit me with a swerve-turn.

"Louis, I've been getting the opinions of many, many and all on how we should re-launch Raw. I know you've got a good mind for the business, you came up with those vignettes for your mother, those were really good, so I wanted your input. Any ideas?"

"Umm..." It just so happened that I had an idea floating around in my head. "Sir, I mean, Vince, I do have an idea, but it's a little risky. May I?" feeling like I could better express the idea in a written format, I grabbed a piece of paper, jotted down my idea and then showed it to him.

"Hmm...that's, that's wonderful!"

"Hold on Sir," I added a little more to it.

"That's incredible! That's something I would think up! It's perfect! It's edgy, aggressive, counter-culture, I like it, no, I love it! You just gave me the opening to my show!" he grabbed my hand and shook it. "Hahaha! Well done! Well done!"

***

I should mention what was going on with my mom and me during this whole time period. Well, not a whole hell of a lot. After living in Florida for such a prolonged period of time, Mom bought a house there. As for me, I moved out of my Aunt and Uncle's place and got me an apartment in New York City. Me and Mom talked on the phone, mostly texts, we'd nod to each other in the arenas, no full-blown conversations because I didn't wanna blow my cover (not wanting anyone in the company to know I'm her real son). Conversations were a bit awkward; I don't think she was quite over the fact that she caught me checking her out, and also, I'd just found out she was into mother-son roleplay sex. That would've been an awkward conversation: "Hey Mom, I saw you get spanked by that guy who plays me on television, yeah, you seemed to be really into the whole "mom-son" thing, yep, and by the way, I think you're really hot." You can see why our face-to-face meetings would be so brief.

I thought about telling Mom that I saw her have sex with Troy, but since telling her could've got me and Vince in trouble, I considered the issue closed. It is her sex life after all; she can feel free to ride her roleplay son and pretend to his mom. By the way, they canned Troy after his heel turn, good riddance I say, never liked the guy. Didn't ask Mom if she still saw him, it would have been a weird conversation. Though I did still keep the DVD and watched it occasionally for my own personal enjoyment. Gotta say that my mom is a hot, tight babe when she's riding! Ahem, well anyway, moving on. On TV, Mom was playing a second-fiddle role, a shame really, considering how massively popular she was for a short period of time, just when that wrestling MILF character was blowing up. Well, with that wrapped-up, let's go right back to ringside!

***

It was time for the new, edgy version of Monday Night Raw to be unveiled. Because my angle was being used, I was allowed into the arena. The show opened with a more aggressive theme song, louder pyro and a new logo. After the announcers welcomed the viewers, Kelly Kelly's music started playing. "Holla, holla, holla!"

"Ohhh! Kelly! Kelly!" shouted overly-excited commentator Jerry Lawler.

Out she came, the tight-bodied, jiggly breasted, perfectly-formed, blonde, blank-faced beauty that is Kelly Kelly. She was wearing a pink sports-bra-type top and black track pants. She sauntered into the ring and grabbed the microphone.

"What's up Chicago!? Yeah!"

The crowd cheered for their chosen city.

"Welcome to Monday Night Raw! Woo! Yeah! Now on Raw, there's no more P.G, no more holding back, but before you all get too excited, I just got word from the censors: they saw what we got planned and want us to tone it down."

"Boo! Boo!" shouted the crowd.

"Well, to those censors, I only got one thing to say..."

She turned her back to the camera, did a little wiggle, then tore off her track pants to reveal her thong-adorned bare behind.

"Kiss my ass!"

The predominantly male crowd was whipped into a frenzy, cheering at the sight of her tight sexy buns. On commentary, the announcers were screaming over each other.

"Lookit Jerry! Lookit! Kelly's, Kelly's butt!"

"Oh my God, Cole, oh my God! Ohhh I love Raw, I love Raw!"

Kelly walked back up the ramp and tagged hands with fans, the camera tailing her delicious butt. Then, Kelly got to the top of the ramp, turned around and spoke into her microphone:

"And for the benefit of those that speak Spanish!"

Rosa Mendes, a shapely, sensual, raven-haired Latina woman, wearing a red shirt and long skirt, was holding a mic as she shimmied on screen. She turned her back to the crowd, grabbed her skirt and ripped it off to reveal her juicy bare ass.

"Bésame el culo!"

The girls hugged, then, walked off stage, creamy and mocha butt-cheeks sashaying to commercial. The blood-strewn, profanity-laced -- and most importantly -- focused product received rave reviews. After the show was over, everyone backstage was buzzing with excitement. Vince saw me and patted me on the shoulder.

"Excellent work! That opening set the tone perfectly, perfectly."

"Thank you, Sir."

His mood turned slightly more sombre, "Lou, I want to talk to you about something. Let's sit down."

Uh-oh, this did not sound good. We sat down.

"Louis, I don't want you giving me ideas anymore, as a crew guy."

"Oh, ok."

"I want you working full-time as one of our writers."

I was stone-cold stunned! "Vince, I, I --"

"Now let me finish: I want you booking the entire Raw women's division. Full creative control, all the angles, all of them by you. Lou, I want you in this role because I know, without a shadow of doubt, that you are the biggest pervert I have met in my entire life."

I was both honoured and shamed. "Vince, I'm, I'm...of course I want to do it, but won't people know I'm my mom's son? You know what I mean?"

"I thought about that and I assure you, you got nothing to worry about. Only me and Hayes know who you are, and Hayes is gone, plus the whole writing crew is new, fresh. I suspect you don't want your mother knowing your part of the writing team? I can make that happen; she just doesn't have to see you, we'll give you a new name and everything, nothing to worry about, I have your back."

"Thank you, Sir...but why me?"

Vince shuffled forward and spoke with the upmost seriousness. "Lou, I don't want "rasslin" people: I want people like you. Your credentials speak for themselves, I mean, by gawd you finger-fucked your own mother! Which I disagree with, but I admire the balls you shown. Hell, why won't I want you on my team!?"

I almost jumped out of my seat when I said: "Done! I'm in Sir!"

"Great! I'm sure you got some ideas brewing already!"

"I do, Sir. Like, umm, remember those vignette ideas I gave about my mom? The ones that were too risky for P.G? I think we should film them now!"

"Yes! Tomorrow, you fly down to Stamford and you tell those production people yourself what you want!"

"Yes, Sir!"

***

What a quick turnaround it all was: just that night I went from travelling down cold, dark roads to flying in style on WWE's private plane, onward to Stamford, Connecticut, where the WWE headquarters were located. I was sitting with a couple other writers. We were given instructions not to intermingle with each other's work, mostly because Vince knew my ideas would not work with a committee. I looked just looked like the other writers; youngish, trimmed hair, I was a little more tan than the others, but none of us had ladies swooning, I'm sure.

When the clock hit 2am, most of those writers were sleeping in their big private jet seats. While they did that, I was busy looking over my new Raw Divas roster. While scanning the list, I noticed my mom's name was not on any of the rosters. Concerned, I sent her a quick text:

"Hey Mom. I was over at wwe.com and saw that you were not in the draft. What's up with that?"

I got a reply five minutes later:

"Hey Hun. I was told they were not sure what show to put me on. I think this is it for me, time to wrap things up. I asked around and think I can get a job as an instructor. This looks like the end. :-("

This I could not have. I had so much more I could do with my mom. So I stood up and made the gutsy decision to speak to Vince. He was half-sleeping, half-sitting on a couch, scribbling slowly on a notepad

"Sir, sorry to disturb you, it's just that I texted my mom and she said she's not been told which show she's on."

"Ohh, umm, you wanted her on Raw, didn't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"She's on Raw." He raised his voice to shout at his writers, "Hey! Tina's on Raw."

They half-heartedly grumbled in response.

"Hey!" Vince grabbed a book and threw it in their direction, "Dammit one of you write that down: Tina's on Raw! Let her know."

They quickly awoke and typed on their laptops.

"Thank you, Sir," I said.

"Ohh, umm, don't worry about it, kid." He went back to what I assume was sleep.

Next morning, my mom sent me this message.

"Hey Hun! Your momma is not retired yet! I'm on RAW! No way am I hanging it up with a chance to work on The Big-Time Show!! :-D" (Yes, my mom used emoticons.)

***

To fully embrace my new writer role, I needed to make damn sure my mom didn't find out that I was to be the one in charge of her storylines. I worried that she might see me in the open, around the other writers, quickly able to put two-and-two together, but I had a plan: I okayed it with Vince to never interact with any of the wrestlers, effectively staying out of sight. As far as my mom knew, I was still a crew guy. I also decided that I could no longer be Louis Torrile. I needed a new name. So, from that day on, after that day, the day after that, I became Bruno Bocelli! (Named after my uncle's favourite wrestler and my aunt's favourite singer).

When the plane touched down in Stamford, ideas and scenarios had been formed around my complete women's roster, which included Tina Torrile, Melina, The Bella Twins, Eve Torres, Maryse, Kelly Kelly, Rosa Mendes and Alicia Fox. My mom was to not be on TV right away, she was down in Tampa filming new, sexier vignettes, reintroducing her as the Hot Mom character.

Taking my new assignment seriously, I made sweeping, drastic changes to the women's division. Thinking as a guy watching on television, I asked myself why would I want to see these hot women perform suplexes, punches and kicks? I'd much rather see them get down and dirty -- together. Boobs rubbing, asses grazing, lips touching, that's what I want to see! So, instead of having these women go out and perform moves which could hurt or injure them, why not give them a style which is both crowd-pleasing and much safer to their bodies? With all that in mind, I decided that ground-fighting was to be the new model for the Raw divas! I planned these matches out to be entertaining to both perverts and wrestling fans, as the style would be unique to anything else on the show. The impetus was Divas Champion Eve Torres. A legit Jiu-Jitsu practitioner, she was an excellent standard-bearer for the new direction. I also made a few more rules for the women: they were not allowed to wear elbow pads, knee pads, wrist tape, shoes or overly-constrictive clothing. Being as exposed as possible would make these matches a much more intimate experience. With the changes in place, it was time to implement them and make my fantasies come true!

***

On the first show with me in charge, out came the Divas Champion Eve Torres. No more boots, wrestling gear and obstructive clothing, she was there in as much glory as we could get away with: her mouth-watering bronzed body in a tiny purple tight tank top and figure-hugging short shorts, her stunning, exotic looks complementing the whole package. That right there was a woman no hereto man would change the channel from.